The Phoenix Ashe Cafe
by Digitallace
Summary: Baker!Harry, Smitten!Draco and some very delicious dessert debauchery. Warnings for Slash, Chocolate-covered Harry and eminent hunger pains.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This was written for a very lovely friend of mine for her birthday (you know who you are) and I'm sort of proud of it. I know I've been sort of MIA from the fandom lately, and I hope that changes soon but I can't count on it. *epic sigh* But I miss this pair and I miss all of you as well.

* * *

The Phoenix Ash Café

The small brick café was by no means one of Draco's usual haunts. In fact, it couldn't be further from the kind of place the blond gravitated to if it tried. From the outside the bakery looked rather ordinary with its orange and ivory striped awnings and its stainless bistro sets on the small front patio, but nearly every witch and wizard Draco came across raved about the place and after a while, Draco started to feel left out. Usually it was his fine taste and suggestions that led the pack. He was always on the cutting edge of wizarding fashion, he was constantly seen at the most elite parties and events and he had a naturally keen eye for new business ventures that would take off.

This little café managed to elude him on all fronts, however.

He couldn't even recall when it had opened, or even the first person he'd spoken to who had eaten there and enjoyed it. In fact, Draco was so out of the loop when it came to the Phoenix Ash Café that he hadn't noticed how popular it was until Blaise Zabini brought it up the day before. Now, this might not mean much to the average observer, but Blaise was notoriously out of touch with popular wizarding culture as of late. After spending the five years after the war in hiding and as a Muggle, it seemed the poor bloke never fully adapted back into proper pureblood society, not even after being cleared of all charges and having his wand returned unbroken.

It was a sad day for Draco indeed when Blaise was more attuned to what was trendy in their society than Draco was. Nevertheless, Draco knew he had to acquaint himself with the facility the same as he had with the five star gourmet restaurants he'd purchased the year before. If people wanted to be there, Draco would need to be seen there too or else he'd find himself falling out of favor quicker than you could say 'Quidditch'.

The exterior of the building was a mottled brown brick with two vast windows on either side of the entrance doors. Both windows boasted wooden flower boxes practically exploding with yellow and red snapdragons and Draco could smell their sweet fragrance even where he stood across the street. The menu was posted on the wall outside the restaurant and Draco strode over to study it, noting it was filled with fancy sandwiches and decadent sounding desserts instead of the glorified pub food he'd expected to find when he first saw the café.

The restaurant was closed at the moment, set to open in half an hour or so, and Draco took his time observing the interior through the spotless windowpanes. Tables and chairs were packed inside and Draco was fairly certain that if they were all occupied, there would be no room to move in between. There was a bar in the center of the room with stools upended, just waiting to be taken down and filled with slovenly bar patron's fat arses. Quidditch memorabilia hung on the walls and Draco grew more wary of the place the longer he stalked it from the shadows. He just couldn't understand how this little hole in the wall café, a stone's throw from Diagon Alley but in no magical community of its own, could have garnered such an elite following. Sure it was close enough to the Ministry building that employees could Apparate over for a quick lunch bite, but that didn't explain why people like the Nott's and the Parkinson's were falling arse over elbows to get a table here. It was uncanny.

Inside he saw a stirring of movement as a thick brunette moved in from around the back of the bar to begin setting up for the lunch crowd. Draco leaned in and tapped lightly on the glass of the door and smirked as the woman jumped. She eyed him warily through the glass but eventually made her way over to open the door a crack. "I'm afraid you'll have to come back at eleven, Sir," she quipped. "We're not open just yet."

"I'm aware," Draco drawled, gesturing to the golden writing on the door that plainly displayed their hours of operation. "I was hoping the owner was in so I might speak with them."

He had no idea who ran the establishment, and none of his friends had confessed to have noticed on their previous visits either. The owner had to be foreign, or had good enough management that he didn't need to actually frequent the café often. That's how Draco was with the majority of his enterprises. They were merely investments to increase his portfolio, not pet projects he felt the need to micromanage. Draco had held little hope that he would be able to speak with the owner, since he assumed the man was elsewhere, but he thought that a manager of some sort might be able to point him in the right direction in the very least.

"He's in the kitchens, Sir," she replied, much to Draco's surprise. "He's quite busy. Could I take your card and pass it along?"

Draco rolled his eyes and made a move to fetch a card from his robe pocket, but thought better of it. "Tell him that Draco Malfoy is here to see him," the blond replied haughtily. "I'm sure he'll know of me."

Everyone who counted knew who Draco Malfoy was, and even many who didn't count for anything at all. After the war, Draco had single-handedly turned the Malfoy name from a hissed curse to a reverent sigh. This was due, in part, to his financial assistance for the rebuilding of Hogwarts and also because of his enigmatic charm in front of the media's cold scrutinizing eye, but it was mainly because he made sure that wherever he was, he was denouncing the trappings his imprisoned father had fallen into before the war. After a few years of this new Malfoy face, the public began to believe and trust him and then once again Malfoy was a household name - one that was no longer surrounded by dark nuances and treacherous theories.

When the woman returned her face was set into a smug grin. "He's not making any exceptions, Sir. He informed me to tell you that you were welcome to return when the bakery opens." She looked absolutely delighted to deliver this unexpected news after his previously rude behavior.

"He's not coming out?" he repeated and she shook her head, grinning ear to ear at his dismay.

Taking advantage of his floundering, the woman closed and latched the door once more before setting back to work to get the café ready for their lunch crowd. It wasn't a terribly unreasonable thing to ask Draco to wait, after all, the time they opened was less than a half hour away, but the refusal to come out and meet with Draco before hand left the blond wondering.

It would seem that the owner either didn't know Draco's name at all, or knew it too well and was one of the few still prejudiced against his family. However, if that were the case, why would his pureblood friends still flock to the tiny bakery if they were so unwelcome? Eventually, Draco turned and left, unwilling to linger by the door like an obedient Crup waiting for his master to let him inside. He wanted to meet the owner now more than ever, but he wasn't a puppet to be strung up and toyed with. He'd come back when it pleased him, and not a moment sooner.

* * *

It turned out that it pleased Draco to return less than an hour later. He found the café a mystery that was just waiting to be cracked open and he couldn't seem to think of anything else in the meantime. He was sure that once he met the owner of the now famous bakery that the mystery would dissolve and he'd find himself disenchanted with the place, which was exactly how he wanted it. He certainly couldn't look at the café from a logical place while his head was still reeling from presumptuous owners and the enigma of success that he'd yet to figure out. He needed to meet the owner and discover the man was ordinary and droll and he needed to taste the food to be certain his friends were simply exaggerating its pull over them.

This time he'd brought Pansy with him, because she had a critical eye if ever Draco saw one and she could find the most insignificant issue with a person or establishment and make it seem as though she'd found a live rat swimming in her stew. Although, she had already been to the Phoenix Ash and adored the place, perhaps Draco could convert her by the end of their meal.

"You should try this sandwich," Pansy instructed once they were shown their seats and given menus. He was happy to note that the woman who had been so rude to him was running the bar, not waiting on their tables. He wanted to hate the place, but not because a rude waitress spit in his food. He wanted to discredit it for more than poor service just to prove to himself that he was right all along and still in the forefront of all wizarding trends. "It's my favorite so far."

"How many times have you eaten here?" Draco asked incredulously. Perhaps bringing Pansy along was the wrong thing to do.

"A few," she answered vaguely. "Typically I just pop in for dessert, not a full meal. The owner makes all the pastries fresh and I swear to Merlin, Draco, I almost creamed when I bit into his famous chocolate torte."

"It's closer than Nott has gotten you, I'm sure," Draco replied blandly. He was used to Pansy's boldness and tended to play along, but he was otherwise preoccupied as he caught sight of a chef's hat bobbing in a window behind the bar. He couldn't glimpse the person wearing it though; the window was just too high and obscured by large pint glasses.

"True enough," she replied bitterly. "I think I'm going to try the Sinful Strawberry Delight this time," she mused as she flipped through the menu.

"That's an odd name for a dessert," Draco replied, glancing at his own menu for the first time since briefly scanning the one outside. "Carnal Caramel Tart, Almond Indulgence…. Are these desserts or stripper names?"

Pansy snickered but shook her head. "You'll get it once you try one," she assured her skeptical friend.

"It can't possibly live up to the expectations you've given me," Draco replied as their waiter approached. He was a thin man with sandy blond hair, the kind that Draco often referred to as 'dirty' although honestly anything looked filthy compared to his own lustrous pale mane. "I'll have the honey turkey, the Infatuated Apple Tart," he ordered with a roll of his eyes, "and a meeting with the owner."

"I'll let him know there is a customer to see him," the waiter replied with a smile and Draco resisted the urge to point out that he wasn't just _any_ customer - he was Draco Malfoy. Perhaps if the man behind this café and its dishes didn't know whom he was coming out to meet, he would actually show up this time.

Pansy ordered the pastrami and the strawberry dessert she'd mentioned wanting and the waiter left with their orders and returned shortly with their sandwiches and a promise that the chef would emerge to greet them if he had a spare moment. Draco stared at his sandwich, unsure if it was even possible to get it into his mouth. Thick layers of turkey and aged Muenster cheese were stacked with lettuce and honey mustard on two slices of brioche. It was sweet and delightful and completely unexpected. Draco hadn't realized that simple food could be so delicious and somehow he found a way to stuff every bite of the sandwich into his waiting belly and when he was through, he craved more. It was terrible.

He wanted to hate the place so badly but here he was enjoying this turkey sandwich more than he'd ever enjoyed anything he'd put into his mouth. And the sandwiches weren't even what the café was known for! Pansy watched him with expectant eyes and he tried to school his face into its usual mask of cold indifference. "It's acceptable," he announced at last and she smiled knowingly.

"High praise from a Malfoy," she quipped and returned to her own meal. After that lunch, Draco could hardly wait to see if the dessert came anywhere near the raving tales he heard about, but he didn't see how it could. It would have to be divine to get Draco to appreciate it; he usually didn't even like sweets.

The waiter returned to collect their empty plates and he assured Draco once more that his message to greet the chef had been delivered. When he came back with two tiny bowls, Draco was already salivating from the aroma alone.

Spiced apple met his nostrils, hinting at cinnamon, nutmeg and brown sugar. There was a flaky crust around the gooey morsel, and Draco had to dig nails into his own hand to keep from launching into the dessert like a rabid beast. "Well, it smells good at least," he said aloud, but his face betrayed him and Pansy giggled.

"I told you so," she murmured before diving into her own dessert, her eyes closed and her head lolled back as she chewed.

"Potions," Draco muttered. "It has to be potions or some kind of intoxication Charm making everyone want more." It was a reasonable explanation and Draco clutched onto the notion steadfastly.

"I'm afraid the ingredients are all quite natural, Malfoy. Nothing magical is ever used in the preparation of my dishes," replied a familiar voice from directly behind him.

"Potter?" Draco asked, whirling to see the face of his childhood enemy smiling at him smugly. "You're the owner?" he asked incredulously and Harry nodded. "And the chef?" he pressed and Harry nodded once more.

"You didn't know that?" he asked and Draco looked dumbfounded for a moment before shaking his head and regaining his typical Malfoy composure.

"It certainly explains why so many flock to this place though," he mused, wondering if his brain had been playing tricks on him and the food wasn't really as good as he'd previously thought. Perhaps Pansy's enthusiasm had rubbed off on him. Besides, it would look unseemly if he were the only one to reject the café that so many of his peers enjoyed. Harry made a frustrated grunt and turned to leave, but Draco's hand shot out to stop him. "Sorry," he amended upon seeing the man's annoyance. "I think the food is brilliant, I just thought that maybe your name had something to do with pulling in such a large crowd."

"It's not called the Harry Potter café, you know?" the brunet noted, carefully extracting his arm from Malfoy's grip. Malfoy thought he sounded rather defensive, and a thought struck him out of nowhere, making him study the chef before him more thoroughly than he'd ever studied anyone before. He was used to the messy mob of black curls, now partially hidden by the floppy white chef's hat. The band of scruff along his chin had started long before the last time Draco had set eyes on the man, a feature that he usually thought made Potter look unkempt, but here in his element, it made the brunet look wild and passionate. He could tell just by the way Potter held himself that he felt at home in his bustling restaurant, at peace amongst pots and pans and open flames. But Draco's words had given the man pause and caused a spark of worry to light those brilliant emerald orbs, hidden less by the newer, frameless spectacles he wore now as opposed to the thick, round nonsense he'd worn at Hogwarts.

"You're a great chef, Potter. No reason to doubt that the clientele is here for your food, not your reputation," he told the man, unsure why he was bothering to try and reassure Harry Potter of anything at all. He'd envied this man all his life, watching intently for any sign of weakness and always came up short, so why now, when Draco had finally spotted something that made Potter anxious, did he comfort the man instead of exploiting his new knowledge?

Harry didn't seem to understand either, because he just stood there looking dumbstruck until Pansy snickered and pulled both men's attention to her. "The Sinful Strawberry Delight was delish, Harry," she told the man and Draco balked at the ease she exuded when calling the man by his first name. "I think Draco here would like it too."

"Er, thanks, Pansy," he replied, blushing slightly. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"Merlin, Potter. She's a married woman. You shouldn't flirt with her," Malfoy teased, watching closely as Potter's face lit up like a Christmas tree.

"I wasn't flirting," he huffed defensively.

"He wasn't," Pansy confirmed. "He's just rubbish at taking compliments. Much the opposite of you, Draco dear, who expects them to be constantly flowing in his direction."

"They don't have to be constant," Draco corrected as he brushed a nonexistent spec of dust from his lapel. "And why shouldn't I be showered with compliments? I'm rather amazing."

Harry snorted and averted his gaze so the other man wouldn't see the mirth taking hold of him and Draco frowned across the table as Pansy joined in. After a moment and several long glares, Harry and Pansy both sobered, though it took Harry a moment longer than Draco's lunch date who knew perfectly well the amount of teasing her friend would tolerate directed at him. "Sorry, Malfoy. I forget that you're actually serious when you say those things."

"Are you trying to insinuate that you disagree?" he challenged the brunet who simply shrugged.

"I'm merely pointing out that I haven't seen any great talent that should warrant such arrogance," he replied, his voice nearing the edge of hostility.

"Talent like yours, you mean?" Draco bit out, barely keeping his own cool.

"Boys, boys," Pansy cooed lightly, though Draco could hear the tension in her voice and caught on to what was going on. Without even realizing it, Draco had got up and was facing the belligerent Gryffindor nearly nose-to-nose. Nearby tables were watching hungrily, no doubt hoping for a duel between the famed rivals but Draco didn't want to give them a show today. He preferred to stay out of the papers for negative news as much as possible. "I'm sure you're both equally talented," she placated before slipping into a wicked smile. "Harry, I'm sure Draco would love to show you his _biggest_ talent."

Draco's eyes went wide at her implications, flicking over briefly to Harry's face to see if he'd picked up on her innuendo. It took a moment but an almost visible light went off above Potter's head and his cheeks flushed a deep crimson. "I need to get back to the kitchens," he muttered. "I'm happy you've both enjoyed your meals." At that he left, using quick, long strides and Draco couldn't seem to pull his eyes away from the retreating form.

"Man-crush!" Pansy announced with a mischievous grin. Draco could almost see the inner workings of her mind playing with little Harry and Draco shaped dolls.

"He did leave rather abruptly. Do you think he was really that embarrassed? Surely he doesn't harbor any feelings like that toward _me_. He's not even gay after all," he mused aloud but Pansy ate up ever morsel of his muttered rantings.

"It's not just Potter who is interested I see," she quipped, grinning as Draco rounded on her with wide eyes.

"You meddlesome witch," he snarled, but there was no venom behind the tone. "I'm not interested in _Potter_."

"No? Well then tell me, what kind of trousers was he wearing?" she asked, propping her chin up on her hands innocently. She knew Draco only too well. Draco could barely refrain from spouting off whatever knowledge he possessed on any given matter when he wasn't specifically asked, if directly prompted, there was no way the blond could resist. She watched gleefully as the urge to answer her question fought with the urge to not be wrong and she was curious which would win out. His face was already tinged with purple from the effort of fighting his own conflicted nature.

"Gray denims, probably Gucci based on the cut," he gasped out at last, sighing as he let his head fall to the table in defeat. "Fuck," he muttered inelegantly and Pansy tittered at her newfound game. She could use this information to pester her friend for ages. "So, what do I do now?" he asked weakly.

Pansy was caught off guard by the question. She'd expected at least three more rounds of denial before he simply announced that he wanted to stay away from Potter's bakery forever. "What do you mean?"

"Well, he obviously doesn't like me, how do I change that?" he asked, lifting his head and staring up at his friend with anxious hope.

The look scared her more that his words, which were plenty frightening on their own. "You want to," she began, swallowing thickly before she could continue, "court him?" When Draco winced but nodded her heart fell into her stomach, and suddenly she didn't feel so good. Watching Draco form a crush on an unattainable man was rather amusing, but when Draco actually wanted to _do_ something about it, that was another matter entirely. "Draco dear, I think you're aiming a bit high on this one. We're talking about Harry Potter here," she tried to reason, but Draco scrunched up his face in annoyance.

"I know that, do you think I don't see how wrong that is?" he demanded. "But you sound as if I'm not good enough for him!"

"Well, if I sound that way, I assure you it's on purpose," she snapped. "You're not good enough for him, and as you so wisely pointed out earlier, we don't even know if he's gay."

"You said he had a crush on me," he pointed out.

"I was teasing, but he did get rather flustered," she mused aloud recalling their brief conversation with the famous wizard, hero and chef. "Still," she added, letting her observations drift away, "you're talking about the Gryffindor Golden Boy. He's the chef at one of the most popular cafés in London and he single handedly destroyed Voldemort. What have you done lately?"

Draco sputtered for a moment, looking thoroughly affronted. He'd done plenty, like purchasing several unsuccessful businesses, turning them around and selling them for high profit margins, though he knew that corporate world politics would probably mean very little to a man like Potter. He'd also donated to numerous charities over the years, but so did Potter. "It was hardly single handed," he muttered under his breath when he could come up with nothing else to say.

"Well, it was close enough that it hardly matters to dispute it. Have you died to save anyone else?" she asked.

"No," Draco muttered, though he hardly thought such a dramatic act was truly necessary in his own case.

"And have you increased the morale of hundreds of citizens just by attending a simple Ministry function?" she pressed.

"I most certainly have," he began but at Pansy's narrowed gaze, Draco had to admit that he really didn't have much impact on anyone's morale, "not."

"And have you opened a bakery with desserts so decadent that they fill the void in a person's soul?" she asked, staring wistfully at her own empty plate.

"I get your point, Pans," he grumbled. "But you haven't answered my question. What do I _do_ about it?"

She sighed, letting her shoulders sag and lost her regal Parkinson posture for a moment before taking a deep breath and steeling herself. "You're truly set on this path? I can't do anything to dissuade you?"

"I want Harry Potter," Draco pronounced clearly.

"Fine," she muttered, tossing the coin for the bill and a generous tip on the table and took hold of Draco's hand, pulling him awkwardly from his chair and toward the exit. "We've got a lot of work to do then."

Author's Note: This story will be 3 parts in total, with the 3rd being pretty long. Just a heads up.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Part two. I'm glad everyone liked how it started.

"I couldn't possibly wear this," Draco complained as he spun in front of his reflection in the mirror. "It's far too…ordinary."

"It's called _casual_, Draco. It's what wizards like Harry Potter wear all the time," she pointed out. They'd been to four stores already, and at each one Draco had found a flaw in her every selection. She was growing weary and a bit perturbed that he refused to listen to her after seeking out her advice. "What was Harry wearing today?"

"Gray denims," he parroted at once. "His chef's frock and that adorable droopy hat."

Pansy rolled her eyes. Draco had been getting increasingly mushy over the last few hours and coupled with his consistent dislike of all her suggestions, it was quickly wearing on her nerves. "That's his work uniform, but what do you think he was wearing under the white jacket?"

"Nothing?" His eyebrows waggled suggestively and Pansy had to laugh.

"Probably a simple jumper just like this one," she corrected. "I've seen him at the park and at Granger's office and he's always dressed like this."

"Always?" Draco asked, wondering how anyone could prefer to look so bland. "What if I added a scarf?"

"Then you'll look like a ponce who is trying too hard." She'd already crossed her arms over her chest and Draco knew he wasn't going to get any more help out of her until he agreed to something.

"But will I look like an _attractive_ ponce?" he asked, shaking his bum until she finally cracked a smile. "Fine, fine," he sighed, pulling at the dark and light blue stripped fabric of the shirt. At least it was well-made materials, soft and luxurious to the touch if not to the eye, and the denims fit him perfectly, not too loose, and tight in all the right places.

"Good," she sighed with obvious relief. "Now we can move on to that hair of yours."

"What's wrong with my hair?" he demanded, glancing up at the reflection of perfectly coifed blond tresses that were pulled back into a neutral ribbon.

"You look like your father," she replied with a half-sneer.

"My father was awarded the 'most handsome convict' award from Witch Weekly just a year ago," he pointed out, but Pansy looked disgusted.

"I'm sorry, was that supposed to be a reason why you should keep your hair that way?" she asked incredulously. "Because all I heard was 'wah wah wah, my daddy's the hottest bloke in Azkaban, wah wah wah'."

Draco scowled at her but she remained unmoved. "What did you have in mind," he asked, sighing lightly as he recognized that he was trying to reason with a brick wall.

"This," she replied, flicking her wand in Draco's direction, casting a mild glamour so that he could see what she proposed more clearly. When Draco turned around he almost gasped. His hair was shorter, shaggier and darker than he'd ever worn it.

"Absolutely not!" he declared, banishing the glamour for one of his own. The new vision had his hair only slightly shorter and worn loose around his shoulders, but still the unmistakable platinum blond of before. She turned her nose up and made a comment about it being 'unflattering to his pointy face' before adjusting it again herself. This time the spell kept it his normal blond, white and pale like he liked it, but styled it shorter so that it hung around his face in tousled locks. The fringe scooped just below his brow and the back remained long enough to curl slightly at the ends. He stared at it for what Pansy thought seemed like hours until finally he nodded. "I can do this," he told her. "I think I might even like it."

"Thank Merlin," she sighed and ushered him into the dressing room to change. Moments later they took their purchases to the salon, where the stylist matched the glamour they'd shown her and then they went back to the Manor. Draco was surprised to find himself relax into his new image, he actually felt like he could sit less rigidly and could laugh more readily than he did in his stiff tailored suits.

Pansy seemed equally pleased by the transformation, noting to herself that she'd never seen Draco Malfoy smile quite so often as he was doing now. "So, all that's left is getting his attention."

"I'm not just supposed to show up and charm him off his feet?" Draco asked, frowning slightly.

"As if you could," Pansy scoffed. "Do you think you're the first fit wizard to set their sights on him? He'll be used to fending off all sorts of admirers."

"Well, then what do you suggest?" he asked, bracing himself for the headache he felt was eminent.

"I suggest you become Harry's assistant," she announced, holding up a scrap of parchment that read 'Help Wanted' and Draco simply rolled his eyes.

"Pansy, that's…" but even as the plethora of derogative terms danced up to his lips, he couldn't say any of them, because the more he thought of it, the more it seemed like a good idea. Harry would be forced into his company for hours a day, during which time they could build mutual admiration and trust, which might just prove to be enough to balance out the scales when Harry discovered Draco had only wanted to date him all along. "Genius," he finished instead of anything he was going to say before.

* * *

Harry looked carefully over the day's shipment of fruit, scrunching up his face as he scanned over the crate of strawberries they were trying to pawn off on him. "These are practically inedible," he complained, handing the crate back to the man who had just unloaded it from his cart. "I can't use these."

"They look fine to me," the man replied gruffly, not even bothering a glance down at the molding fruit before shoving it back at Harry.

"Fine? Some of these are completely green!" Harry pointed out, lifting one of the strawberries and spinning it in front of the man's face. "It's like it's wearing a fuzzy green sweater!"

"Then market them as winter berries," the deliveryman suggested before walking back toward his cart. "I've got other produce to drop off. If you have a problem, take it up with management."

Harry seethed as he watched the man leave, his delivery truck rambling away. He let out a strangled growl of frustration and ran his hands through his hair, mussing it beyond recognition. He'd asked for fresh berries and they had delivered him crap. He didn't know how he was going to complete the day's menu with this rubbish. Sure he could call the produce vendor and get a better batch in for tomorrow, but that would hardly help him _today_.

To make matters worse, he heard a customer knocking on the glass door at the front of the restaurant. Begrudgingly he marched up there, it was still too early for any of his help to get there, and since he was short-staffed as it was, it would only get worse as the day went on. As he approached the door, he noticed the man was holding up his 'Help Wanted' sign and he breathed a sigh of wary relief. Lots of people wanted to work for him at the café, but most of them had no idea how to properly function in a Muggle kitchen, which was how his was usually run. Today he'd probably have to resort to magic to make sure the food got out hot and on time, but he hated to do that. It didn't make any sense at all, but he just thought his desserts tasted better without any extra magic aside from the love he poured into each dish.

He opened the door and stepped aside, allowing the man to come through and took the outstretched sign from his hands. In his distracted state, it took a moment before Harry recognized who it was. "Malfoy?" he hissed. "I'm in no mood for your jokes."

"It's not a joke. I want the job," he insisted. "I want to cook for you."

"Have you ever even seen the inside of a kitchen?" Harry asked, rolling his eyes. This spoiled Slytherin had probably never raised a spatula in his entire life. "I need an experienced sous chef, Malfoy. It takes more than a pretty face to make good food."

"Did you just call me pretty?" Draco asked, ignoring the rest, but Harry just lifted his hands into the air in frustration and turned away, storming back into his kitchen with Draco following close behind, even though he wasn't invited. "I'm sorry, but it sounded like you called me pretty," he pressed, his mouth set into a smug grin.

"I was merely trying to point out that you don't belong here, Malfoy," Harry spat, glaring at his moldy strawberries with ill-hidden contempt. "You don't know how to cook."

"Teach me," Draco replied. "I can learn any task I set my mind to."

Harry sighed and leaned heavily against a tower of empty crates, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses to try and ward off the headache that was already pounding through his skull. "It would take far too much work to get you to the level I need, Malfoy." He was trying to be reasonable even though the blond was making ridiculous propositions. "My last sous chef had five years of culinary school."

"So," Draco rebuked. "You couldn't possibly know how good I am unless you test me."

"Fine!" Harry shouted, ready to get the prat out of his kitchen and start doing what he could with the rubbish fruit he'd been delivered. "Dice those onions in less than five minutes," he ordered, pointing to three unpeeled vegetables lingering by the sink.

"What? No one could do that!" Draco complained.

"I have three employees who could do that in their sleep," Harry barked. "Are you ready to give up yet?"

"No," Draco hissed and made his way over to the onions, holding them awkwardly in his hand as he pulled the first to his nose and sniffed deeply of it, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the pungent smell. "I think these are bad," he pointed out and Harry strode over to him and rolled his eyes.

"The onions are fine, Malfoy," he sighed, his eyes flicking back to the box of rotten strawberries. "_Those_, however, are quite rotten," he told the blond, pointing at the disgraceful pile of fruit.

"Ew. You're not using those are you?" Draco remarked.

"Of course not," Harry sighed, rolling his eyes. "I need to Owl the produce vendor and have a new batch brought in tomorrow."

"But what about today? You can't just truncate your menu because of bad product. How many of the items contain strawberries?" he asked.

"Enough," Harry sighed, rubbing his temples slowly.

"I'll go down there," Draco told him and began to march toward the door.

"What?" Harry asked, frowning in confusion.

"I'll go to the vendor and demand a new batch," he replied easily, hefting the box against his hip. "Where are they?" Harry blinked rapidly and rummaged into his pocket for the produce company's card and handed it over to Malfoy wordlessly. "Be back in a flash," Draco said before Apparating away.

Harry just blinked after him and ran his hands through his hair again. He couldn't believe that he'd had two back-to-back encounters with the petulant blond and this time he was here to what? Work for him? How had that thought even struck the former Slytherin as a good idea? He refused to spend any more time wondering about the enigma that was Draco Malfoy and went about the prep work needed to start his day. He had the onions he'd assigned Malfoy diced in three minutes, with a triumphant 'told you so' muttered even though there was no one around to hear him. Next he started removing the pits from all the cherries on hand so that he could start them soaking in his sugar mixture.

He was nearly done with that when he heard the telltale pop of Apparition behind him. Whirling around he took in Draco's form, really looking at him for the first time that morning. A warm tingle ran through his body as he suddenly realized that Malfoy was handsome, more so than usual. He tried to recall what the man's hair looked like the day before, because he swore it had been a good deal longer and tied back. It looked much better now.

"Did you cut your hair?" he asked, forgetting momentarily about the man's task and the strawberries he needed.

"What, just now?" Malfoy asked, placing the crate of strawberries on the table.

"No," Harry laughed. "Since yesterday."

"Oh, you noticed that did you? Do you like it?" he asked and Harry nodded.

"The cut suits you," Harry replied with a sheepish grin before his eyes drifted to the fruit Malfoy had brought. Every berry was plump and red and smelled delicious. "Oh, Malfoy! I could kiss you!" he shouted pulling the man into an awkward hug before he realized what he was doing and took a purposeful step away from the blond. "Sorry," he muttered, but Draco was chuckling lightly, his eyes glowing like molten silver.

"It's no bother," he replied. "So, can I have the job?"

"Malfoy," Harry sighed, squinting his eyes closed. "It's nothing personal but I really need someone who knows their way around a kitchen. I'm sorry, but it would take me too long to train you."

"Oh." Draco was surprised, but he knew he really shouldn't have been. This plan was farfetched from the beginning. "I see, well, I'm glad I could help you with the berries anyway. Have a nice day, Harry," he told the man before turning to leave.

He didn't know if it was the defeated look in the blond's eyes or the way his given name sounded on the other man's lips, but whatever it was, it had Harry calling Draco back into the kitchen. The blond peeked in and Harry waved him over, grinning at the pleasurable way Malfoy's hips swung when he walked. "I can't hire you for the kitchen, but I could really use a hand in running this restaurant. I need someone with charm and force and more importantly, someone who knows the difference and when to use one or the other. The staff would need to respect you, the customers would need to love you and the vendors would need to fear you."

Harry could literally see the moment when Draco's spirit lifted. It was written clearly in the squaring of his shoulders, the way his chin lifted ever so slightly and that smug grin returned to his lovely features. He almost looked out of place without it. "I could do all that."

"I'm fairly confident that you could," Harry agreed. "Do you think you could work for me, Malfoy? I mean, really take orders from me without question? We'd see an awful lot of one another and I would count on you for quite a bit around here."

"Having the Great Harry Potter count on me for anything would truly be an honor," Draco replied with a gracious bow, causing Harry to wince.

"Alright, but if you work here, it's Chef, okay, Malfoy?" he asked, his own smile returning in full force. Somehow this blond tornado had come in and turned his whole day around.

Malfoy slinked over and held out his hand, grasping Harry's tightly when he took it. They lingered that way for far longer than was decent and Draco's fingertips grazed his lightly when the blond pulled away at last. "It's a deal, Chef," he replied with a raised eyebrow before turning and walking away, pausing only when he reached the door. "So…er…what do you need me to do?" he asked, spoiling his suave exit and Harry laughed before going over the seating plan and then introducing the staff as they came in. No one seemed pleased by the new addition, but Harry felt rather confident that Draco could charm each one to his cause.

* * *

Draco had never been so exhausted in all his life. Making sure Harry had everything he needed, making sure the staff was turning in the orders correctly and that they were coming back to the diners as requested, all while keeping a smile on his face, was arduous work. Still, he felt confident he had balanced it all as well as could be expected for his first week.

The downside to his position was that he saw very little of Harry, despite what the man had claimed on his first day. They were both so busy doing separate things that they barely had time to greet one another and bark orders back and forth. He had to admit, Harry was a brilliant owner and chef, he knew exactly what was needed to keep his café running smoothly - he just didn't have time to do it all.

At the end of the evening Friday, Draco said goodbye to the last of the servers as they left and wandered into the kitchen to find Harry toiling over some kind of tart before he turned to the blond and smiled. His features betrayed none of the exhaustion that the man absolutely had to feel, it was just warm and bright and inviting. "You did really well this week, Malfoy," he mused aloud, his fingers busy making the decorative crust for his miniature desserts.

"Thanks. I'm beat," he admitted. "I don't know how you took care of everything before I came along. I could barely keep up with my half."

Harry chuckled and filled his crusts with a lumpy yellow mixture before sliding them into the oven. Another tray sat beside him, this one covered in finished tarts, each baked to a perfect golden brown. He moved the tray aside and jumped up to sit on the edge of the counter, staring intently at his newest employee. "You didn't seem too flustered while you were out there. From what I could tell you were your usual, charming self."

"I was trying pretty hard at it," Draco admitted as he took a step forward. Harry was like a magnet, some of his hair was matted down in places where he'd broken a sweat and then cooled down, he'd long discarded his hat and there were faint streaks of white mixed into his ebony locks where he must have run his flour coated hands through his hair. A stray bit of cherry filling lingered near the corner of his lips and Draco yearned to lick it off, but quickly shook away the image of what that act might lead to. He didn't want to get sacked, as tired as he was, he'd never felt so fulfilled in all his life.

"Here," Harry said, picking up one of the small tarts and breaking it in half, "try this." Draco took a tentative step forward, placing himself directly in front of the brunet as he opened his mouth for the bite. Harry spared only a second of apprehension before placing the sweet dessert on Draco's tongue, his fingers drifting softly over the man's bottom lip as he pulled back. Draco chewed it, and hoped desperately that Harry couldn't hear his heart racing. "I'm considering adding it to the menu. What do you think?"

A million flavors seemed to fly across Draco's tongue as he savored the small bite. The first to hit him was fresh-spiced pear, crunching softly in his mouth and coating it in their tart juices, but then something smooth and creamy competed for attention and Draco sighed as he swallowed it down. "It's brilliant, Harry. What is it?"

"Pears and goat cheese," Harry replied.

"So, what lascivious name are you going to give this one?" he asked with a quirked brow.

Harry chuckled and popped the remaining bite into his own mouth, swallowing it before speaking again. "You don't like the names, hm?"

"They seem better placed in an erotic novel," Draco replied, grabbing up a menu from a nearby table and launching into a seductive reading of Harry's desserts. "The Carnal Caramel Crème, Elderberry Arousal, Blueberry Blowjob-" Through the recitation, Draco waggled his eyebrows suggestively, made dramatic movements as if he were tossing a long mane of hair over his shoulder and swaying his hips in a lewd display.

"Enough," Harry demanded, laughing so hard he could scarcely breathe. "You made that last one up. It doesn't say that." He tried grabbing the menu away from Draco to prove it and their hands brushed, sending sparks of brittle fire through Draco's veins and making Harry pull away with a gasp.

They stared at one another over the menu for a long moment. The battle over it had brought Draco closer, lodged him between Harry's legs as he sat on the prep table and their faces were so close they were practically breathing one another in. "Hermione always names my dishes," Harry whispered at last, but his face didn't move away and his body showed no signs that he would.

"It seems the Weasel hasn't been meeting all of your friend's needs if these are the names she comes up with," Draco replied softly, carefully holding his ground as well.

Harry's lips curled into a subtle smile and he shrugged lightly. "I wouldn't know. She's just usually the one I have taste a new product first, and I figure with her marketing background, she would know best. Would you like to name this one?"

"I suppose 'pear and goat cheese tart' isn't fancy enough?" Draco asked, matching Harry's grin as it widened.

"You can do better than that," Harry prompted and Draco didn't think he was imagining things when he saw the man shift closer.

"How about…'first kiss'," he suggested, and Harry quirked an ebony eyebrow in reply.

"Why 'first kiss'?" he asked and Draco leapt forward, tossing all warnings aside as he claimed Harry's mouth. The kiss was searching; almost pleading for Harry to accept, but he wasn't disappointed. Legs curled around his waist and pulled him closer as the brunet kissed him back, their tongues dancing together in a blur of flavors. Draco could almost taste everything Harry had sampled that day, and underneath all the amazing bakery concoctions was a flavor Draco could only describe as Harry. Sweet, salty and tart all blended together into a succulent mixture that only served to fuel the blond's desire.

When they pulled apart, each gasping for air, Harry sighed and looked at him through the lacy sheet of his dark lashes. "That was…"

"Wow," Draco finished and Harry smiled.

"Have you been planning that for long?" Harry asked at last, leaning slightly away from his newest admirer.

"Planning? No, not really. Thinking about it? Yes." Draco grew nervous, his pulse racing, as he tried to read what Harry was thinking. Unfortunately those usually expressive eyes seemed closed off from his gentle probing.

"I should probably finish these up." Harry pointed to the tray of tarts sitting beside him and the other in the oven, glancing away from Draco as he did. He slid down from his spot on the table and moved quickly away to take the second tray out of the heat. "You know how to let yourself out, yeah?"

"Er, yeah," Draco whispered, stepping away and squaring his shoulders. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Have a good night," Harry called after him, not looking up from his long row of desserts. Draco disappeared through the back door, lingering there a moment, hoping the brunet might change his mind and run after him. He didn't know what happened, what snapped and changed in Harry's mind, but the man never followed after him and Draco ended up walking to a nearby alley and Apparating home alone.

Author's Note: Sinful Strawberry tarts for all who review *wink*


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: This is the final part and it's a tad longer than the others. I hope you enjoy.

Harry waited until he heard the door close and counted to ten before he looked up. His guard finally lowered, Harry let out a deep, shuddering sigh and waited as his schooled features melted into confusion and sorrow. He had no idea what had just happened. One minute it was business as usual and the next moment he was snogging Draco Malfoy, secretly hoping the blond would press it further than just a kiss.

Disgraceful.

He'd been catching his mind wandering in Draco's direction all week. Every time he saw the man his heart seemed to thrum louder in his chest until Harry was sure it would burst through. He had broken so many rules just by thinking about the man, not to mention the dozens he'd just broken with that kiss. Draco was his employee for Merlin's sake, and when did he start thinking of him as 'Draco' anyway?

Never before had he been so careless, and Harry hated that the blond Slytherin was the one to incite such tremors of passion within him. Baking was his mistress, it had kept him warm on many a lonely night when Draco Malfoy was probably out boffing some random elitist pureblood. He didn't understand why he'd allowed things to progress so far. He should have fired Draco the moment he noticed his feelings, instead of indulging them with sweet, hungry kisses.

Harry groaned aloud, running flour streaked hands through his already messy hair and he sagged against the oven. What was he going to do? _Malfoy_ was an evil twat, but _Draco_ was charming and kind and sexy and…. No. This wasn't going to work. He couldn't date his employee. It was ethically wrong and would change the dynamic between him and the rest of his staff, which was completely unacceptable. He didn't even know where this new man came from, what had happened to turn the snide blond from the week before into this gracious man who treated Harry as an equal.

But Harry wanted him.

His want was a strong, palpable force that threatened to bring him to tears. A frustrated growl emanated through the kitchen as he banished the idea of sobbing on the floor over Draco Malfoy, and Harry was only glad there was no one there to hear him breaking down.

* * *

Lunch on Saturday was peculiar.

Harry still hadn't decided what to do with the blond who was flittering about the front of the house as if he'd worked there for years. Draco was such a seamless addition to his team that he was loath to lose him, but he didn't know how they could possibly continue to work together now that their mutual attraction had been made clear. Still, he couldn't bring himself to fire the man just yet, and instead, watched him intently through the cutaway in the wall that separated the kitchen from the bar.

The 'First Kiss' tarts were being served for the first time that day, and so far they had received a good reception. Harry decided to keep the name Draco had come up with, which had obviously pleased Draco even though he'd said nothing about it. The moment he saw the addition to the menu he'd flushed and gotten the widest smile on his face that he'd yet to wipe off. It was adorable, and Harry wished he could put that smile on the man's face everyday, but quickly shook away the thought whenever it occurred. Besides, Draco might not have grinned so broadly if he knew Harry's reasoning for keeping the name. If he was going to force the man out of his kitchen and his life, Harry wanted something on the menu to remind him of their brief time together.

Harry had worked so late the night before, well into the morning hours, in fact, and he'd completed so much that he could relax a bit today. All of the baked goods were done and sitting under stasis spells, ready to be delivered to the customers upon order. He normally refused magic, but this bit allowed him less waste in the kitchen, so he begrudgingly used it.

When the first howl met his ears, Harry thought that someone had been hexed in the dining room. He bolted out of the kitchen to see what went wrong, but Draco was already at the woman's side, rubbing soothing circles into her back as she sobbed into his shoulder. When his gaze met Harry's the man shrugged lightly and gave him a look that was as confused as Harry felt.

"What happened?" Harry asked, when he made it to the table.

"She just took a bite of the tart and began wailing," Draco explained softly, the woman completely oblivious to their conversation as she continued to cry. Harry looked over and saw the 'First Kiss' tart, half eaten on the woman's plate and flicked is wand over it, checking for anything that might have injured the woman. He had been so distracted as he worked the night before that maybe something harmful had fallen into the mixture. That worry dissipated when he found nothing unusual, but he still wondered what happened to put the woman in such a state.

And then the same thing happened across the room and then to a man three tables away. Harry panicked. He couldn't understand what was happening but he wanted it to stop. "Draco," he pleaded, grabbing the man's sleeve as if it would be his saving grace. "What in Merlin's name is going on?"

"It tastes so good, but it's so sad," the woman sniffling into Draco's shoulder was now saying. "So deliciously depressing."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, his voice frantic. "What's sad?"

"The tart," she answered through a choked sob.

"Food can't be _sad_," Harry protested with an indignant huff, and took a bite of the remaining tart on her plate just to prove it. He felt nothing at all, just as with all of his food, although that all changed when he looked at Draco, the desperate feelings of loss folded over him once more, but that had nothing to do with the pear and goat cheese tart in his mouth.

More and more customers began sobbing and Harry's panic grew. If word got out that his food was causing people severe depression, his café would have to close. "What do we do?" Harry asked Draco and the blond looked lost for a moment before suddenly nodding curtly and fleeing the restaurant. Harry gaped after him and wanted to scream. How could Draco abandon him like this now?

He didn't have long to wonder about it though, before the blond returned with his robe pockets stuffed with vials of purple liquid. He bustled from table to table, administering the potion to each wailing guest and removing the plates of uneaten tarts from the remainder of the tables until finally the restaurant was calm once more. Harry sighed in deep relief and grabbed Draco's hand, squeezing it tightly within his own. "Thank you so much," he whispered, and Draco practically preened at his side.

"It was nothing. I just ran down to the Apothecary and bought up all the Pleasant Potions he had on hand. Your customers will be happy well into dinnertime," he explained, but Harry's gratitude didn't waver.

"It was more help than I could have rightly asked for," he whispered and sighed as he surveyed the dining area filled with slack-happy faces. "We need to get them out of here and close the doors for the rest of the day until I can figure out what happened."

So the staff spent the rest of the following hour escorting the customers from the restaurant and spelling a sign to tell people they were closed for the rest of the day. "If the _Daily Prophet_ catches wind of this debacle I'm finished," Harry sighed when the last customer was gone and the doors were safely locked.

"I wouldn't worry about that," Hermione said as she Apparated into the kitchen. She was one of the few people that the wards were keyed into, and she didn't often use the privilege, but Harry was happy to see her now. He'd Owled her the moment he realized they'd had to close. "Luna's already printing an article in the Quibbler on how a shipment of spoiled strawberries had kept your menu too limited to finish out the day. _The Prophet_ won't bite on a story so small," she assured.

"Thanks, Mione," Harry sighed and let himself sag into a chair next to Draco. His friend eyed them both curiously as she took a seat across from them.

"So, I'm no longer needed to test and name your dishes. It seems I've been replaced," she huffed and Harry winced.

"It's not like that Mi," Harry explained. "Draco was there, and I let him taste it. I would have thought you would like the name."

She shot him a cheeky grin and nodded. "I did, I did," she replied with a knowing smirk. "Very cute. Tell me, Malfoy, how did you come up with it?" Malfoy didn't respond, but rather glanced at Harry, who flushed dramatically, giving Hermione all the answers she needed. "I thought as much. I knew he couldn't possibly stay on too long before you were snogging in the coolers. Frankly I'm impressed you both held out as long as you did."

"We were not snogging in the coolers," Harry protested, but Draco was grinning ear to ear and Harry was no longer able to conceal his own hapless smile. "Fine, we kissed, but it wasn't in the cooler, and it's not going to happen again."

"Why not?"

Harry didn't know whom to answer first, because both Hermione and Draco had asked the question simultaneously. "Because it's unprofessional," he replied, deciding to split his gaze between them and stare at the menu instead. That way neither felt left out and he didn't have to look at either one directly. "Besides, I have more to worry about right now than snogging. How am I going to fix this?"

"Well, it's certainly not going to happen right this moment," Hermione huffed, clearly put out by the non-action happening all around her. "My suggestion is to remake the tarts, you should be able to see where things went wrong."

"I suppose that means kissing Draco again," he scoffed, but his stomach stirred and shifted even as he proposed it.

"If you like," Hermione quipped with a wink.

"And what about me?" Draco blurted. "Does no one care what _I_ want? What if I have no intention of kissing Harry ever again?!"

"Good," Harry huffed indignantly. "You shouldn't want to kiss your boss."

"Well, I don't!" the blond sniped, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Fine!" Harry shouted and stormed off to the kitchens, slamming and locking the door behind him.

"Fine!" Draco shouted in response and fled in the other direction, out the door and into the street.

"Well, that went swimmingly," Hermione muttered.

* * *

Harry stirred his new concoction with bitter strokes, angrily whipping the batter with a frenzy as he muttered curses about insidious blond's and their need to manipulate others. He wished the entire incident could be pushed from his mind, but he couldn't even look at a pear tart without thinking of the ignorant blond tart who had stormed out on him earlier that day.

To be fair, Harry knew he had done storming of his own, but he was in too much of a snit to care. He was the boss here, and he had to maintain a professional atmosphere or else the whole bakery would be shot to hell and he couldn't have that. In lieu of trying to form a relationship with other people, because none of them saw him as any more than the Gryffindor Golden Boy and War Hero, Harry had formed a relationship with his decadent desserts.

So, instead of trying to remake the tart that had gone terribly wrong, he decided to make something he was familiar with. His dark chocolate molten cakes had never let him down, and he knew the recipe so well that he could likely make them in his sleep. There was no possible way anything could go wrong with it, and he could reopen later that day with a fresh new batch of goodies.

"You're being ridiculous, you know that right?" asked a voice from behind him and he didn't even bother glaring directly at his best friend. Hermione and Ron were still the only people he ever confided in and they alone knew that the tabloid stories of him with mysterious suitors were completely falsified. Harry didn't date. He didn't have time for it, nor did he trust anyone enough to try.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he huffed, renewing his angry pace as he poured the mixture sloppily into the baking pans.

"Sure you do. Someone finally comes along that you share a connection with and because you're scared, you pushed him away," she explained insightfully as she was known to do.

"I'm not _scared_. I'm merely trying to look at the situation as his boss and a business owner," he replied curtly, filling the molds with the chocolate that would serve as the molten center before slamming the pans into the oven.

"Why don't you try looking at the situation from the perspective of a man who has needs," she countered, but Harry just huffed and made himself busy cleaning up. "Harry, it's been years since you and Gin broke up and you haven't dated anyone since."

"I don't see how that's your business, Mione," Harry hissed, tossing the bowls and spoons into the sink and spraying them heavily with the industrial nozzle.

"Because I'm not your friend?" she asked, her tone injured.

"You know that's not true. You're my best friend, Mione." He turned around to offer her a comforting look, only to find a triumphant grin on her face.

"Then it's entirely my business," she corrected.

"You're as bad as he is," Harry grumbled. "It's still my life. I can live it how I please."

"Of course it is, Harry. I just don't like seeing you so upset," she soothed, stepping up behind him to knead his shoulders gently. The touch was just enough to melt away some of Harry's tension and he sighed heavily.

"I like him, I really do, but it doesn't seem right. He works for me and he's…he's _Malfoy_ for Merlin's sake," Harry groaned, letting his head fall back on his friend's shoulder.

"He's not the same entitled prat that he was in school, Harry." The words echoed through his mind and he nodded. Harry had already seen as much or else he never would have kissed the man to start with.

"I know. I just…I don't think I know how to date someone, and what if it all blows up?" Harry asked, filled with conflicted emotions.

"That's the chance we all take when it comes to love, Harry. It doesn't always work out the way we want it to, but when you meet that special person that fills the void in your heart, it's worth the leap of faith, I promise." He turned in her arms and their eyes met, her warm chocolate gaze soothing away the last of his anger. "Does Draco do that for you? Does he fill the void?"

Harry thought about Draco's time at the restaurant, the late nights they'd shared, the way he seemed to pick up and click into place at the Phoenix Ashe like a puzzle piece. Everyone adored him, everyone respected him and the café ran like a precisely honed clock until that morning. "He fills the void in the bakery," Harry whispered, unsure if that counted.

"Well, the bakery is your heart, Harry," Hermione beamed. "Now you just have to show him the rest of you."

"Please tell me you're not referring to my getting naked for him," Harry sighed, pulling away and giving his friend a patient grin.

"That's not exactly what I'd meant," she murmured, "but now that you mention it…."

Harry rolled his eyes and tossed his friend a towel. "Help me dry these, will you?"

Hermione chuckled as he grabbed the towel and moved to Harry's side, carefully drying each pan in companionable silence using no magic whatsoever.

* * *

The doors to the Phoenix Ashe Café opened later that day with a new line of desserts that Harry felt wildly confident in until a certain blond came sauntering into his kitchen. "What are you doing here?"

Draco gave him a slight sneer. "Here I had thought you don't mix business with pleasure, Potter. Was declaring my lips unfit to kiss your way of telling me that I'm fired?"

"No," Harry huffed, clenching his fists defensively. "Of course not. And I never said you were unfit to kiss," he added with a sigh.

Draco's eyes flashed before he averted his gaze, falling instead on the new set of menus. "Either way, I'm here for my shift as usual. Hermione told me you were set to reopen tonight. I thought you had requested my presence, but clearly I was mistaken." With that, the blond glided from the room and into the bar to meet with the wait staff, leaving Harry feeling like a heel.

The café was filled faster than Harry could blink and before he knew it, the molten cakes were flying out of the kitchen and onto the patrons' plates. He was in his zone, humming away to the music playing in the kitchen as he plated his desserts and sent them out with a distant Malfoy. He vowed to talk to the man properly once the dinner service was over, but now was not the time.

It wasn't until he started hearing raised voices from the dining area that he was alerted to anything being wrong. He immediately removed his chef's hat, tossing it aside as he made his way out, brushing his hands off on his apron as he looked for Draco's trademark coif.

Even without the white-blond hair Malfoy would have been easy to spot as he was standing between several screaming customers, wand raised in a defensive stance. "What in Merlin's name is going on here?" he shouted.

"This gentleman, and I use the term gentleman loosely, just started attacking this other bloke," Draco explained. "And then their wives got involved."

"I am not his wife. I'm his lover," the blonde woman to Draco's left bit out and Harry tried to stifle a laugh at the random comment.

"Okay, well I'm sure whatever dispute you have with one another can be settled in a civil and orderly manner," Harry interrupted.

"That's exactly what I told them, but they don't even know each other," Draco huffed, his wand still leveled.

"What?" Harry asked, thoroughly confused.

"We've never met this couple in our life," the blonde woman repeated for Draco.

"Then why are you fighting?" Harry asked dumbfounded.

"I just looked over," the woman's 'lover' replied, gesturing to the other couple, "and suddenly I wanted to punch him in his fat face!"

"My face is not fat, you bloated sack of lard!" yelled the other man and Harry's gaze flicked to Draco, who shrugged elegantly.

"Who the hell are you calling bloated?" the man's wife argued, looking as if she might launch herself across the room and strangle the other man. Harry was about to stop them and tell them to take their bickering outside, but another couple started fighting across the room, this time with each other.

"I knew you were cheating, you prat!" the woman shouted, tossing her drink in the man's face. "I should have confronted you the time I found lube in your pocket!"

"Well, if you weren't such a frigid bitch, I wouldn't have to fuck the copy boy!" the man yelled back.

"Copy _boy?_!" she screeched. "Father told me you were bent, but I always blew him off!"

"Yeah?" the man yelled. "Well, so did I!"

The café looked utterly aghast at the statement and Harry shot Draco an apologetic look before shifting over to the new bickering couple. "Okay, okay, there is a time and a place for these conversations…or maybe not…but either way, this is not where you should be discussing your affairs." Wincing at his bad choice of words, he continued, "It's not fair to the rest of the patrons. I'm going to have to ask you to-"

"Sod off, you prick!" shouted a new elevated voice and Harry looked over to see yet another couple fighting.

"Merlin, what the hell is going on here?" Harry grumbled to himself as he cast a Patronus and sent it to Hermione. It looked like he would need to shut the place down again, but he couldn't understand what was happening in his popular café.

Hermione was there in a flash and together with Harry, Draco and the rest of the staff, they managed to wrangle all the disgruntled customers outside and locked the doors securely behind them. Again. "I'm ruined, Mione!" Harry sighed, sagging against the cooler door. "Insanely emotional outbursts twice in one day? The _Prophet_ will have a field day with this."

"We'll figure something out," Hermione soothed, patting Harry on the head.

"I've got loads of contacts at the _Prophet_, Potter. I can pull some strings and make sure a none of this gets printed," Draco confirmed.

Harry winced at the use of his surname but shot Draco a warm smile regardless. "Thanks, Draco. You've really been a lifesaver."

Draco beamed for a brief moment before returning his stoic Malfoy mask. "Of course. I work here too after all. I can't allow the café to be slandered in the press."

"Of course," Harry sighed, sinking to the floor until his head rested uncomfortably against the frigid metal of the cooler.

"Well, I'm going to get back to Ron and leave you two alone," Hermione chimed in, already halfway to the door. "See you later, Harry. Malfoy," she added, tipping her head as she ducked out of the kitchen using the back door.

"I should be going too," Draco announced and made to leave, but Harry stopped him with a pleading look.

"Wait, please stay," he rasped and watched as Draco paused and slowly turned to face him.

"Why?" the blond asked simply.

"I'm sorry about earlier today, about what I said. It's just…I'm afraid to open up to anyone," Harry breathed, having never said that aloud before. It was just common knowledge between he and his only two close friends but admitting it to Draco felt somewhat freeing.

Draco's haughty mask faltered and a bit of the _real_ Draco shined through. "You think I'm _not_ scared? I'm terrified. I've never had a job before, I've never needed to, I _still_ don't _need_ to, but I enjoy it. I enjoy being needed and having a bit of control and I enjoy spending time with you."

Harry stood up on shaky legs and closed the distance between them. "And I didn't mean what I said about not wanting to kiss you," Harry added. "I enjoyed kissing you very much."

Scoffing, Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course you did, I'm an excellent kisser."

"That you are," Harry confirmed, his eyes blazing as Draco leaned in and captured his lips.

Harry melted into Draco's touch, completely lost to the feel of those lips against his own. It was better than any dessert he'd ever concocted, which only made him wonder how much more delicious the Slytherin would be covered in chocolate.

With that in mind, Harry fumbled for the nearest table, producing a pan with the remnants of his molten cake filling. He dipped a finger into the cooled mixture and held his chocolate covered finger up to Draco's lip. Grey eyes clouded with lust as Draco leaned forward and sucked Harry's finger into his mouth, his tongue swirling with delicious promise.

Harry's head fell back with a groan from just the feeling of Draco's hot mouth around a single digit; he couldn't even imagine the pleasures that awaited him if he pushed this further. Suddenly the thought of stopping seemed extraordinarily dim, so he extracted his finger, only to replace it with his mouth, devouring the last hints of chocolate from Draco's tongue.

His body seemed to take over from that point, leaving his mind out of the equation as he started undressing the Slytherin right there in the middle of his kitchen. If Draco had any protests, he didn't voice them, but Harry suspected by the way his fingers worked frantically at Harry's chef's jacket, that he was feeling the same. Their lips only parted for the brief amount of time it took to slide Draco's cashmere jumper over his head and toss it into a pile with his trousers and Harry's uniform.

Fully clothed in his usual designer apparel, Draco was stunning, but here, nude and full of lust in Harry's kitchen, the man was exquisite. Harry stepped back to look at him properly and realized that someone should carve his likeness from marble, and even then it wouldn't be as brilliant as the real thing. "Beautiful," he whispered, feeling the words fall short of what he truly thought.

A smug grin curled the corners of Draco's lips as he cast his own appraising gaze. "You're not so bad yourself, Harry," he commented with a wink, closing the distance between them, his fingers digging into Harry's hips as he angled the brunet over to the cold metal prep table. "Chocolate," he ordered, and Harry nodded to the pan. "Bend over," he demanded again and despite the slight irritation at being ordered about, Harry obeyed, splaying his body against the table and wincing against the icy steel.

Behind him, Draco slathered a liberal amount of the chocolate on his fingers and pressed it into the crease of Harry's arse, making the Gryffindor squirm. Sticky fingers clenched down on his cheeks, spreading them wide before a hot, wet tongue slid into the cleft, teasing Harry's entrance with each passing stroke. The sensation was incredible, and Harry rutted against the movement, craving more, which Draco freely gave.

Draco's fingers sought his entrance, rubbing his fingertip against the tight hole, making Harry whimper. When the first finger breached the tight ring of muscle, pushing deep inside of Harry with slow precision, he thought he might die of pleasure. But then the digit began to work in and out of him, fucking his channel with practiced ease and then a second finger was added, making Harry keen as they crested over his prostate.

"Draco," he rasped, his voice a strangled cry and the sound of it made Draco pick up his pace until he removed the fingers completely, leaving Harry feeling empty and frustrated. But before he could grumble over the loss, he felt something much thicker resting against his entrance.

"Harry," Draco breathed, his voice as trembling as Harry's legs, "I'm going to fuck you until you never want to fuck anyone else."

Harry almost laughed, because he'd never wanted to fuck anyone else before now and he couldn't imagine ever being with anyone else after this, but he decided it was best to keep his mouth shut and enjoy the pleasure Draco was offering. "Yes," he whispered instead and immediately felt the head of Draco's cock inching its way inside of him slowly, but surely.

The burn and the pressure and the feeling of tightness flowed through him like a sugar buzz, making him giddy and intoxicated all at once. He found himself leaning back into Draco's pelvis, matching the force of his initial thrust and driving him impossibly deep. Harry gripped the edges of the counter as Draco began to move, his pace strengthening with each new plunge and soon, Harry was writhing and slamming backward, greedy for more of the delicious friction.

By the time Draco reached around to fist Harry's cock, Harry was already close and just three tight strokes from that perfect, pale hand sent him over the edge. His cock erupted like a volcano cake, his release coating Draco's hand and the damp tile floor below them. Harry would have cleaned away the mess at once, but he was still swimming in the after effects of his orgasm and the intense feeling of being filled as Draco shouted and came inside of him, his hips pumping frantically to milk the last of his own climax.

Breath coming in heavy pants, bodies sagging against the metal table, the two men stayed there, drinking in the air and the faint scent of chocolate mingled with sex. "That was…fantastic," Harry rasped at last.

"It was rather brilliant, wasn't it?" Draco asked, his smug grin still firmly in place, practically preening even though he was nude, sticky and spent.

Harry smiled, slowly getting up and stretching, feeling a pit form in his stomach. What now? Would things at the café become awkward? Draco's smile fell abruptly when he glanced over to see conflict riddled across Harry's face and he moved to grab up his discarded clothes, flicking his wand over each article to clean them and smooth the wrinkles away.

As he dressed, Harry wondered if he should say something, but his tongue felt heavy and stuck to the roof of his mouth as if he'd taken a bite of his peanut butter pie. He was at a loss for words and just stood there like a block of ice.

"I should probably go," Draco said at last, looking pristine and no longer rumpled, like nothing had ever transpired between them and Harry wondered if that was the way Draco wanted it. Forgotten.

"Right," Harry muttered, feeling suddenly vulnerable in his naked state and scrambled to fetch his own clothes, not bothering to clean them the way Draco had. He was just going home after all. He could clean them then while he berated himself for fucking his co-worker despite the warnings in his head.

"Well," Draco began, gliding slowly to the door. "I'll be off then. See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, tomorrow," Harry confirmed and watched the disappointment flitter across the blond's face before the mask slid into place and he turned and left Harry alone in the kitchen. Harry just stood there, staring at the place Draco had just vacated until he finally tore his eyes away, cleaned up the evidence of their encounter and went home to sulk.

* * *

Harry was tense the next morning as he worked on his new recipe. He'd had fun with the blond the night before. Some might even say _too much_ fun, but now that daylight was streaming into the café windows, Harry wondered if he'd made a mistake.

He'd never before let his guard down with another person the way he had with Draco last night, and he had to admit that he was already falling for the blond prat, only, he had no idea how Draco felt. Was this just another conquest to him? A fun fling until the Slytherin grew bored and moved on? Would he simply leave Harry or the café too? Would Harry be able to work with him anymore even if he did stay but their 'relationship' fizzled out?

His mind was so abuzz with questions that he didn't hear the door open or the lithe steps behind him until a shout was given just beside his ear.

"Harry," Draco gasped, leaning over to watch the man closely as he stirred the mixture. "You're using magic."

"I most certainly am not," Harry scoffed, but his eyes fell to his hand and even _he_ couldn't mistake the glowing shimmer that seemed to flow from his body and through the spoon now that he was paying attention. He tried to stop it, even shouted a 'Finite' spell, but the power continued to flow from him to the tart filling. "I can't make it stop."

"It's raw magic, Harry," Draco whispered in awe. "I've only seen it a few times before, but I've read all about it. It latches onto your emotions and casts itself without any incantations. I've never heard of it doing _this_, though."

"Doing what, exactly?"

"Fusing with food. It's taking your emotions and adding them as ingredients in your desserts, probably because you don't use your powers enough," Draco lectured.

"So, what? The tarts made people upset before because _I_ was upset, and the cake was making people angry because _I_ was angry? That's nonsense," Harry huffed.

"Is it?" Draco countered. "Is that really so hard to believe in a world where a seventeen year old boy bested a wizard with ten times his power? Or a world where dragons could be bought on the black-market, or a world where a Slytherin could be in love with a Gryffindor?"

"So, it's not so hard to believe, I suppose but…what?" Harry balked, thinking he had surely heard mistakenly.

"I've tried to ignore it, Salazar knows it's a hundred kinds of wrong, but I'm in love with you, Potter, and I'm tired of you ignoring it too," Draco said, stepping in closer to the brunet.

Harry grinned, unable to help himself. "And what if I don't return these rather strong feelings you have for me?" Harry asked.

"Then I'll have to modify your memory so that you do," Draco sneered mockingly. "I want you, Potter, and not even your famous Gryffindor stubbornness will stand in my way."

"Is that right?" Harry breathed, fully aware that the space between he and Draco was closing up rapidly.

"I'm always right, Harry. You should get used to that, because you'll be dealing with it for a very, very long time," Draco threatened before he leaned in to capture Harry's lips.

FIN


End file.
